


The Fire

by MothGay



Category: Longmire (TV)
Genre: Angst, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Feelings Realization, Grinding, Literal Sleeping Together, Love Confessions, Mutual Pining, a terrible pun trope, taking each others clothes off
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:42:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27073678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MothGay/pseuds/MothGay
Summary: Walt and Vic encounter the necessity of talking about their feelings, which we know is excruciating for both of them. It's said that good things come to those who wait, but fear of the unknown will cause those who wait too long to loose that one good thing they desire.
Relationships: Walt Longmire/Victoria "Vic" Moretti
Comments: 2
Kudos: 21





	1. Don't Let Me Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Walt finds Vic at the Red Pony. They both must confront their feelings for each other, and Vic owns up to the message she left on Walt's home phone the day they found Branch in the creek. The events of this chapter are an alternate ending to S4E5.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't like Donna at all so I will pretend she is not really a part of Walt's story in this fic. Forgive me Walt x Donna shippers!!

Vic sat at the bar, anxiously looking at her phone where Deputy Eamonn O’Neill’s contact is pulled up. She twirled her beer, torn between calling him and distracting herself with a stronger drink. Her low-cut tank-top was starting to seem ridiculous now.

 _Fuck it,_ she thought, _might as well._ Her divorce might as well be finalized; it had gone almost too smooth. Sean just wanted out, and she respected that. Eamonn was a nice distraction from the aching loneliness that crept up on her these days. _He’s so nice, and I’m a sucker for men with scruffy beards, like Walt –_ She cut her thoughts short with a shake of her head. Not gonna unravel those feelings tonight. She tapped the green phone symbol before she could talk herself out of it anymore. She sipped her beer and brought the phone to her ear.

_Ringggg_

_Ringggg_

_Ringggg_

_Rinnggg_

She rolled her eyes, frustrated.

_Ringg-_

“Hello?” Echoed a woman’s voice, “Hello, who is this?”

Vic stabbed the hang-up button furiously. Of course. Why was it always like this? Men sneaking around behind their partner’s back, unconcerned with who they hurt. Then again, maybe she was the common denominator. Gorski, then Sean, then whatever happened between Walt and Lizzie after she found them at his house…. She downed the rest of her beer and rubbed her temples.

“You seem distressed,” Henry spoke quietly across the bar, “Are you alright Vic?”

“Yeah Henry, fuckin’ fantastic,” She sighed, her face still in her hands.

“I am not convinced you are as fantastic as you say,” He said with a quirked brow, wiping his hands on the rag over his shoulder.

“Men,” Vic said acridly through clenched teeth.

“Ah.” He passed her another beer with a sympathetic look.

Henry decided it was best not to pry. Still, he kept an eye on her, just in case. And Travis, who had been sitting at a table by himself without ordering anything, for an hour. As he turned to face the mirror behind the register, the door swung open and Walt stalked in. He seemed to be more brooding than usual, if that was possible. He stopped at the bar two stools away from Vic, leaning an elbow on it with one hand on his hip. He looked her up and down briefly. The hat stayed on, indicating he wasn’t planning to stay long.

“Vic,” he said gruffly. Hard day on the job then.

“Hi Walt,” she responded in a similar tone.

“The usual?” Henry glanced between them, noting the intentional distance. He slid a can of Rainier toward Walt, who sat down with a sigh. He took a long drink, foam resting on his upper lip when he returned the can to the counter.

Vic didn’t know whether she should try to have a conversation or let him scowl at his beer in peace. Maybe he’d have some piece of sage advice or another. He was one of the few men she knew that could invariably treat women with respect. She eyed him, not wanting to face him fully. His dismissal of Eamonn ruffled her but she sort of understood why Walt didn’t like having him around to point out his different way of doing things, not to mention bringing the murder case public without permission. He was a complicated man, but he was simple in that he did not tolerate challenges to his authority, especially from people he’d barely met.

“Hey, uh Vic I know you’re upset with how I handled Deputy O’Neill, and I’m sorry. He deserved a little more tact.” Walt’s voice interrupted her thoughts.

“Ya think? Walt, he was just trying to do his job!” Vic glared at him.

“I know. I’m trying to do mine,” he looked back at her from the shadow of his hat, “I know you liked having him here while I was uh, absent.” His face was tense.

“It doesn’t matter, he’s a piece of shit anyway,” She took a drink of her beer.

“How so?” Walt turned to look at her, concerned. He did not want another Gorski incident. If O'Neill had tried to hurt Vic…

“I said it doesn’t matter. Can we drop it?” Vic heard the hint of worry in Walt’s question. She felt tears prickling the corners of her eyes and wiped them with the back of her hand, turning away from his gaze.

“Okay,” he said simply. Vic was a complicated person but if she needed his help, he knew she would ask.

“Picked a deputy,” Walt changed the subject, slightly.

Vic snorted. Talking about work was the last thing she wanted to be doing right now, but she was surprised that he had chosen one so quickly. It took at least a week for him to even call her back after she submitted her application.

“Yeah? The Zach guy?” She guessed. He didn’t strike her as very experienced, but certainly seemed sharp. And not as rude as the academy buzz cut guy. He did have a somewhat troubling past, but who doesn’t at the Absaroka Sheriff’s department?

“Mhmm,” Walt nodded, “He’s promising. Had good answers to my questions. He starts Monday.”

They sat silently, two stools apart, for a while. Walt just stared at the beads of condensation on his can of beer, Vic at the chipped gray polish on her nails. _I need a haircut too_ , she thought. _Maybe I’ll get some highlights or something_. She reached up and tightened her ponytail. She looked over at Walt. Something seemed… a little extra closed off about him today. He’d been rattled by the case today, or maybe the feds breathing down his neck were getting to him more than he let on. He took off his hat to run his hand through his silver-streaked blonde hair. He always let it grow until he couldn’t stand it tickling his neck and ears when he drove the Bronco with the windows down. She wondered if Martha used to cut it for him.

“Vic, uh, how’re you holding up?” Walt replaced his hat, albeit tipped back to see her better. He felt her watching him and caught her eyes for a moment. Since the hostage situation with Chance Gilbert and Branch’s death he’d been trying to make it a point to ask every once in a while. She looked so worn out and restless at the bar, it made his stoic old heart ache. He could admit that talking about feelings was on the long list of things he didn’t like much. Sometimes a man must confront necessary evils to protect those he cares about.

Vic looked at him with an expression that shifted from that of a pissed off bleeding coyote in a snare to one of exhaustion. Of her walls coming down, just a little bit.

“You just can’t let me be can you, Walt,” she said sadly, “Thanks I guess, I’m doing….I don’t know. I don’t know.” She dropped a clenched fist on the bartop with a muffled thud.

“It’s okay to feel that way, sometimes it just feels like walking through a fog,” Walt hesitated, and reached over to put his hand on her balled-up fist. She didn’t flinch away, instead turned her hand over and squeezed his.

“Then one day, you see the edge of the fog, and all you can do is keep walking until you’re out in the sun,” His voice was rough, and she saw a tear fade into the lines on his face. She knew he was thinking about Martha, and all the fog he’d walked through since her death to find peace.

“Thanks Walt, I mean it. Thank you,” Vic said sincerely, squeezing his hand again before moving hers away. He nodded with a small smile. Those were rare these days. She decided making him smile at least once more tonight before the bar closed was her goal. They sat in silence a little longer.

Vic realized bar was empty then. The clock on the wall indicated it was past midnight. Just Henry, herself and Walt. She had noticed that Walt had not touched his beer much, just a few sips since Henry had set it down in front of him. Odd. But neither had she, after her first one. The bottle she’d been absently fidgeting with was warm in her hands. Henry was back at the other end of the bar, polishing it with a rag.

“So. You got any more gooey feelings to share boss?” She teased awkwardly, scooting to the next barstool over. One barstool closer to him.

“Not quite, don’t think I’ve been drinkin’ enough,” He said seriously, “And I don’t intend on walking home tonight.”

That earned him a chuckle from Vic. She liked his dry humor, it diffused situations like this where nobody wants to be the first to change the subject.

“Good, I don’t want to drive you home. Don’t want to spend my evening listening to your drunk feelings.”

“Me neither,” Walt agreed. The corners of his mouth quirked a bit. He recalled finding Vic wasted and pitiful off a 6 pack of Rainier next to the dead possum on the riverbank, and having to haul her soggy drunk ass into his truck to keep an eye on her. He was glad she wouldn’t remember how long he sat in the passenger side watching her sleep, just to make sure she was still breathing. He was also glad she didn’t puke in there, that’d be a bitch to get out of the seat covers.

Vic wasn’t drinking a Rainier tonight though; it was Deschutes porter. Based on his experience, people who drink porter don’t like lagers. He mulled these thoughts in his head, looking at Vic quizzically.

“You don’t like light beer do you Vic,” he said.

“Ugh no it tastes like watered down bread. Only when I’m desperate,” she grimaced, tapping her bottle with her nails, then realizing how similar Walt’s tone was when he was dragging a confession out of a murderer after he’d already pieced everything together.

“Why,” she asked warily. She knew why.

“Well I seem to recall you’d drank a 6-pack of Rainier when I found you by the river, was that supposed to be for someone else?” Walt’s expression was almost playful, like a bobcat in a henhouse.

“Um, -“ Vic rubbed her temples again.

She’d tried to block out that day, including how it started with her at Walt’s door face-to-face with Henry before he rushed out to find Walt. Henry had made his way back to their end of the bar and was leaning by the register listening to them amusedly, noting that there were fewer stools between them. Of course he had inferred everything he needed to know about that 6-pack of beer Vic sauntered up the steps of the cabin with. He walked back to the kitchen to finish cleaning up. He did not want to spoil Walt’s fun catching the hen.

“You called me with news on a stake out, but there was already a message on my phone from earlier in the day. You told me it was nothing. Vic, is that true?” Walt was insufferably thorough in his navigation of her mistake. He was smiling now, corners of his eyes crinkled.

“Ugh Jesus, Walt stop grilling me,” Vic laughed nervously, “I confess!” She put her hands up in feigned defeat.

“I called you because I… I wanted to see you,” She said staring hard at her hands, face heating up, “But Henry was there looking for you when I got to your house and I got worried so when he left I went back to the station to see if…and then Cady was there, I’m sorry, it was stupid, I shouldn’t have –“

“Why?”

“Why what?” Vic looked up at him, meeting his piercing gaze. His steel blue eyes were silvery in the light from behind the liquor cabinet.

“Why did you want to see me, Vic?” his voice was low again, and sounded like stones sliding down a rock face. He slowly moved to the stool beside her.

“Because… I couldn’t stop thinking about that night at the motel in Arizona, sitting there wishing you’d knocked on that door first,” Vic whispered hoarsely, “And after being locked under Chance’s compound with Sean I realized how much I cared for you – how much I care for you now. They threw a body in a bag down there. I thought it was you, Walt, and I lost it. My marriage with Sean was probably over before then but I knew there was no going back after that.”

Tears rolled down her face. She felt a weight lift off her, but Walt’s face was stony.

“Anything else?”

“Walt Longmire, I’m in love with you,” Vic sniffed and looked at him like a lost puppy. He frowned and nodded to himself.


	2. Do Not Make Her Wait

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Confessions out of the way, there's still a lot of feelings to work through. Walt takes initiative and of course they are interrupted, but the show must go on, elsewhere.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I struggled with this chapter, went through about 5 different scenarios before settling on this one. It's nearly twice as many words as the first one but WORTH. UGH. I'm a sucker for this ship!!

“I’ve been denying myself that for a long time now. I care about you so much, and I thought you just didn’t notice from the way you’d just shrug it off or you don’t feel the same. I get so scared and angry every time you just run right into dangerous situations and it’s tearing me apart, Walt!”

Vic put her head in her hands, embarrassed that she was suddenly laying bare her heart to Walt at the end of the bar at the Red Pony. The emotions that gnawed in her mind at the end of nearly every day for months on end flooded her consciousness. Frustration that Walt seemed not to notice her concerns for his apparent lack of self-preservation instincts. Fear for his life, and how his life impacted hers whether he cared or noticed at all. Conflict between the knowledge that Walt would never fully let go of Martha and the desire to soothe his ragged edges, be a part of his peace. Jealousy of Lizzie and Donna; shameful, insidious, stinging jealousy.

“Vic, I thought we weren’t going to talk about feelings,” His expression was softer as he scanned her face. She shook her head and looked down at her hands.

“Fuck, I uh, sorry,” she wiped her eyes and stood up hastily, nearly knocking over the stool, “I should go I’m so sorry -,”

“No,” Walt pulled her back into her seat gently. “Don’t leave, please.”

“Why the hell not, Walt?” Vic spat defensively, eyes searching his face.

He took off his hat and ran his hand through his hair, setting it on the bar top. Walt isn’t blind, or stupid. He noticed the way Vic sometimes watched him from the passenger side of the truck on the way to a call. Or the way she touched his shoulder while he sat watching Cady’s motionless body in the hospital. Or how he had to school the red that rose in his field of vision when Chance hauled her out of his compound at gunpoint. Or the now undeniable jealousy he had of her relationship with Eamonn, no matter how much he wanted to deny it.

“I can’t change the way I do my job, you know that.” He tried to catch her eyes, but she turned away.

“But I do care about you Vic, I care about you so much. I’m so sorry I haven’t been honest with myself or you about that. You’re right, I wouldn’t do anything all those times you tried to tell me how much you care, but I can do something now.” His voice was quiet, thick with emotion.

“Like what?” Vic said without venom. He was so close she could smell his aftershave.

“This,” He leaned in and kissed her ever so softly at the corner of her mouth. His hand smoothed down her arm, folded protectively to her body. Her body stiffened and his mouth left hers, suddenly unsure. His breath ghosted on her skin. Vic’s eyelids fluttered and a strange mix of confusion, affection, and bone-deep relief ebbed through her racing mind. He faintly nuzzled the hollow of her neck just below her ear and along her jaw. Waiting for her to respond. They exchanged breaths for a heartbeat or two before he kissed her mouth again. This time, she returned the kiss. Their mouths molded together chastely. Her hand crept up his lapel and cupped his face, angling it to match hers better. He mirrored the gesture, stroking her cheek and wiping stray tears. They separated, barely, after a moment, still caressing each other’s faces. Walt’s eyes were bright. Vic laughed softly and they gazed at each other, foreheads together, just breathing, after all this time spent pushing down those feelings for each other to deal with another day.

Henry backed through the swinging door to the back kitchen pulling a rattling cart of beer cases, effectively killing the moment. Walt cleared his throat, looking down, and Henry stopped, an innocent expression on his face. Vic looked at him pointedly.

“Oh. I hope I am not interrupting anything here, please, do not pay any attention to me. I have to restock the fridges,” Henry said in his knowing way, proceeding to open the nearest fridge and slide some bottles in. He winked at Walt.

“You are insufferable, Henry,” Vic snorted. She stood up and shrugged on her coat. He was grinning ear to ear now.

Walt set some bills on the bar to pay for their beers.

“Sorry Henry, can you do me a favor and keep uh, that between us?” he nodded in the direction of the door, already swinging closed behind Vic.

“Do not make her wait, Walt,” Henry glared playfully at him over his glasses. It was unspoken, but Henry would not share anything about Walt without his permission. Ever. Maybe not even to Cady, unless she asked in the stern lawyer tone that made him feel like he was talking to Martha.

He didn’t have to hear that twice. Vic was standing outside, shivering despite her coat. She still wouldn’t learn to dress for the weather. Walt smiled. The neon lights painted her face with lavender and red, all the sharp angles of her cheekbones and furrowed brow intensified. He approached her slowly, resting his hands on his hips, one on the revolver as was his habit.

“What are we doing Walt?” Vic asked in a strained tone.

“Was going to ask you the same,” Walt sucked his teeth and tapped his boot on the dirt.

“I just… I’m afraid to… I don’t want to make the wrong choice,” she sighed. _I don’t want to hurt you._

Walt regarded her carefully. He didn’t want to make the wrong choice either, but he wasn’t quite sure what the right choice was. That seemed to be a dilemma he faced more often these days. She was wrestling with herself, that much was obvious, but she’d locked herself back down.

Vic sighed. “Look, it’s late, maybe I should just go back to Cady's. We've both had a shitty day.”

“Yeah, I uh – “ Walt hesitated, drawing a hand down his face. What more was there to say? They couldn’t pretend what just happened hadn’t. But they were both afraid. For the future, the consequences, the unknowns that lay before them on many criss-crossing paths neither knew the destination of.

She hauled herself into her truck, slammed the door and turned her key in the ignition, fighting more tears. She rolled the window down to face Walt again. _I don’t want you to leave me._

He leaned his elbow on the top edge of the door and looked at her with those deep, troubled eyes that struck her down every time she dared meet them.

“I’m sorry,” he said. For everything, spoken, and unspoken. _I’m sorry for making you believe I didn’t care._

“Me too,” her response came quietly a moment later. _I’m sorry for running away so many times._ She stroked his cheek and he reached up to hold her hand. He ran his thumb along the back of her hand, leaning into her touch.

“Don’t you dare run away from me, Walt,” Vic drew his face toward her own and kissed him deeply.

Emotion flowed heavily between them. She felt a tear meet her hand on his face and only kissed him harder. When she pulled away to breath in a shaky gasp, he chased her lips. It was his turn to kiss her hard. His lips devoured hers hungerly, with bruising pressure. Vic shoved the door open, causing Walt stumble back a pace, startled. She got out and grabbed him roughly by the jacket collar, pulling him back down to her mouth. The momentum of their bodies coming together slammed her against the door and they kissed desperately. She pulled on his collar, one of his hands was at the nape of her neck, the other moved to her waist under her coat, where the thin tank top she’d worn to the bar was hitched up her belly from the embrace.

“Fuck,” Vic hissed, “Your hand is freezing.”

“Sorry,” Walt’s voice had a coarse quality she’d never heard before. It struck a match in her chest and ignited some long-cold kindling deep inside her. Goosebumps prickled her arms, and not from the cold. Both hands found her waist, careful to avoid her skin, and pulled her against him. She nibbled his lower lip and felt him shiver.

“Your place,” Vic gasped, eyes locked on his. _I am NOT going to take you to Cady’s house._

“Meet you there,” Walt had a wicked half-grin and smoldering eyes. Their trucks started almost simultaneously, and Walt led the way to his house. The minutes that passed were torture. Her mind was blank, except for the looping sensation of his big hands gripping her hips. She was desperate to feel that again, but hesitation still lurked in her mind. He drove quickly down the gravel road, perhaps a little to quickly. By the time she had stepped out of her truck at his lot, he had already bounded up the steps and was digging for the key in his jeans. Vic wrapped her arms around him from behind. _Don’t make the wrong choice_.

They stepped in the door. Walt set his gun and badge by the phone before turning back to Vic who had hung her coat on the rack by the door. They were both suddenly afraid to make another move.

“So I uh, d’you –“ he began, scratching his stubbled chin, before Vic shushed him.

“I never thought I’d say it but stop talking,” she said, sitting on the hearth to take off her boots.

“Vic I need to know if this is really what you want,” He took off his hat and turned the felt brim in his hands.

She looked up at him, somewhat surprised. _No more hesitating._

“…Yes. I want this,” she whispered. He took a few steps toward her and took a knee slowly in front of her, running a hand up her thigh, grazing her ribs, and resting on the crook of her neck.

“Good,” his lips trailed along her throat and jaw, “’Cause I want you.”

Their lips met with urgency. Lust rippled off Walt’s broad shoulders. She pushed his coat away and he shrugged it off without removing his lips from hers, tossing it to the floor behind them haphazardly. Her hands fumbled with the snaps on his flannel and his found their way up her shirt. The callouses on his hands dragged along her belly, her moan at the new sensation was lost in his mouth. She felt him smile, using the opportunity to add her tongue to the equation. She pushed him back gently, and he complied by shifting to a seated position on the heavy rug. Her body nestled comfortably in his lap, straddling his hips. He had one arm braced behind him and the other wrapped around her as she kissed him fiercely. Walt mouthed her throat and nipped at her earlobe. Vic let her head fall back, relishing the little burn of his stubble scraping her skin. She sighed, her hands stroking the back of his hair. The heat of his mouth left her skin, so she looked to his eyes questioningly. With one strong arm around her he shifted her hips toward himself once. Pleasure bloomed from the roiling heat in her belly with the pressure through their jeans. His eyes were dark and she knew he felt it too, so she rolled her hips with a curling grin on her lips.

“Vic…” Walt breathed, blinking quickly.

“Mmm, Sheriff is that your gun or are you happy to see me?” she teased.

“Good one,” Walt chuckled and rolled his eyes.

She laughed and pushed him down on his back, his hands gripping her thighs on either side of his hips. She sat up to yank off her tank-top before crashing her lips against his and grinding on his crotch. The sounds he made when she pushed against his erection were feral and made her feel powerful. His belt buckle dug into her belly but she didn’t care, he was finally hers. She was happy to make out with him like this on the floor for the rest of the night like horny 20-somethings, but her body had other ideas. Suddenly her hamstring seized, lancing pain up and down her leg.

“Fuck!” She groaned, rolling off him and clutching her leg.

“Vic, what happened??” The concern in Walt’s voice was obvious.

“Ugh my fucking leg cramped ahhhhhh,” she stuck her leg up and stretched it, begging it to stop. Slowly, the muscle loosened. Walt was just laying there, propped up on one arm, looking at her with his eyebrow raised.

“Sorry about that uh, I'll get you some water” He offered, rising to his feet. He adjusted his pants and went into the kitchen. She heard the squeak of the tap, and water in a glass. Her head thumped back on the carpet and she sighed. _God damnit, it’s always something isn’t it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't hesitate to critique this :)  
> Also I'm like 5298437 years behind this show and have only gotten through season 4 oops


	3. Give In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vic and Walt cross the threshold of no return. This chapter is the sexy part!

“Here,” He set the water on the hearth and sat down on the sofa. He looked so flustered, hair a mess, shirt half-buttoned and broad chest exposed. She sat up gingerly and took a sip of the ice-cold water.

“D’you need anything else?” He asked, starting to get up again.

“No no, sit down Walt, it’s just a muscle cramp,” she gestured at him to sit, “I’ll live.”

“Good to hear.” His smile was gentle in the warm lamplight.

“Sure killed the mood, though,” Vic shook her head, embarrassed. She stood, testing her leg. It seemed willing to mind her wishes without much complaint. She was suddenly aware that she was half-clothed; socks, jeans, and a skimpy black bra were the only articles left. Walt chuckled when she blushed all the way to her ears.

He stood up, closing the courteous gap between them. His hands stroked her arms before settling around her hips. She bit her lip and finished unbuttoning his shirt, tossing it on the couch. The gray curls on his chest were silky under her palms as she explored the softened planes of his torso. She felt the ridges and pits of his many scars, hands carefully undoing his belt buckle. His own hands slid up her abs and he thumbed her breasts through her bra before unhooking it at the front. She shrugged it off and it fell to the floor. Walt drank the sight in like a dying man in the desert who’d just found an oasis.

His teeth grazed her neck again. Vic shuddered, the ache between her legs becoming more and more insistent. His own arousal rested against her hip beneath his jeans. They made their way into his bedroom and he shut the door, trailing open-mouthed kissed on her collarbone. They both removed what remained of their clothing, rushing to feel each other’s skin. Walt lay her down on the bed and crawled up to meet her mouth. She rolled them over and straddled him, praying her leg didn’t object again. She scraped her nails down his torso. He dragged a calloused hand across her chest, squeezing a breast and pinching her nipple. Vic bit her lip and grabbed his wrist, bringing his fingers to her mouth. He ran his thumb across her lower lip, and she slowly took it in her mouth and sucked it, gazing at him through half-lidded eyes. His breath hitched and she felt his cock twitch against her.

Vic pinned Walt’s hands to the bed over his head, grinning deviously. He struggled weakly against her grip and met her eyes with a slightly open mouth.

“Am I the one in charge tonight? You gonna let me run the rodeo, Sheriff?” she purred in his ear. He rutted his hips up against her center, sending electric pleasure coursing through her. Her grip weakened and she whimpered at the sensation. His hands flexed free of her grip easily.

“Not if I can help it, sweetheart,” he growled in response, landing a biting kiss on her neck. Vic moaned, unable to resist the pet name spoken in a way that alone could have made her cum. His strong hands wrapped around her and she was on her back gazing up at him in one smooth motion. He pulled her towards him roughly by the hips. His cock rested against her center and she shivered with anticipation.

Before anything else, he opened the side table, rummaging in the drawer and producing a foil-wrapped condom. He tore it open with his teeth and rolled it on as fast as he could. He stroked Vic’s thighs and belly while teasing her flushed, dripping labia with the length of his cock. She shivered and rolled her hips in response.

“You’re beautiful,” Walt said softly. His draped his body on hers, the heat of his skin melting any doubts she had nestled in her mind like the last of the snow on the Bighorns in May. She briefly thought of all the instances Walt had stepped within reach of Death’s dull sickle but willed her mind to shut up, just for a little while. She kissed him hard, arms wrapping around his shoulders and rubbing his back. The long scars there made her want to hold him even tighter.

Walt guided himself into her molten core, bottoming out with a deep moan and resting his forehead on her chest. He shifted to his elbows for leverage. She moved her hips slightly against his thighs to a better angle and he started thrusting. Slowly at first, then picking up speed with her insistent moans. He kissed and bit at her neck, definitely leaving a hickey or two. She didn’t care though. Part of her wanted to keep as much of this relationship, whatever it may be, a closely held secret. But another part wanted Walt to leave as many marks as he wanted on her skin.

They moved together wordlessly, sharing the same breath, skin on fire. Walt’s pace was even and fast. Vic had never felt such urgency to cum before; the angle of her hips caused him to bump her sweet spot each time. Each thrust brought her closer and closer to her climax. He filled her deliciously; her body sung with pleasure each time he stretched her entrance. The erotic sound of skin striking skin was accented by the sweet needy sounds she made for him.

“I’m so close, c’mon, give it to me,” she grunted, squirming under him. Before Walt even had time to respond, her muscles clenched around him as she came hard. Her body shook and her strong legs trapped his hips. He watched her intently, trying to engrave the bliss on her face into his mind. She cursed and chanted his name, gripping the blankets as though she would fly off into the stratosphere without hanging on to something.

“That’s it, I’ve got you,” he soothed, kissing her chest and neck as the fireworks faded. She was breathing hard, but graciously released his hips. He moved again slowly and carefully, knowing how sensitive she was now. A soft moan escaped her lips, confirming it. He kissed her hard, and with a few more shallow, jerky thrusts he was moaning into her mouth. Vic felt his cock spasm inside her and smoothed her hands over his shoulders, winding fingers into his hair. 

Walt’s body was warm and heavy against hers with his softening cock still inside her. A suffused glow of pleasure hummed through Vic. She smiled and kissed his face, working her way to his mouth. The stubble on his cheek tickled. The corners of his eyes were crinkled with a smile and he kissed her sweetly. She couldn’t think of anything to say so she just kept on kissing him.

Walt was the first to pull away to breathe. He pulled out of her carefully, hissing lightly at the brief friction. With steps hastened by the chill in the cabin he went to the bathroom to toss the condom in the garbage. Vic shuffled her way under the heavy blankets, watching him jam his legs into some pajama pants.

“Guess I can’t ask you to leave, now can I,” Walt said, leaning against the doorway of the bathroom. He had a soft, teasing smile that made Vic blush.

“Just get in here, cowboy,” she threw open the blankets and patted the mattress, exasperated.

He didn’t say anything, just set his cup on the side table and scooted in beside her. His body depressed the mattress as he lay on his side, head resting on the pillow. They faced each other, suddenly shy. 

"You're pretty good at that," Vic said, meeting Walt's blue-gray eyes.

"At what? Making you cuss like a sailor?" he said with a crooked grin.

She rolled her eyes and pushed his chest playfully.

"Maybe talkin' about feelings isn't so bad, huh, Sherriff?"

Vic reached across the narrow space between them and stroked his stubbly face. He mirrored the action, and she kissed his palm. She closed her eyes, grateful for his touch. Walt pulled her close by her waist, breaching the cautious distance between them and kissed her forehead. She smelled like cedar and sex. Her body reflexively curled against him, legs intertwining. She sighed into his chest, relishing the warmth of his embrace. Now, the looming uncertainty that lay before them crept into her mind. They both understood the implications of a superiors relationship with his subordinate. Tomorrow would bring fresh anxieties about her job, her personal life, the cases at hand -

"Quit thinking so hard, sweetheart," Walt whispered into her hair.

"I know, sorry" came her tired response.

Their long day caught up to them swiftly, and the last thing Walt remembered before drifting off was Vic’s steady heartbeat beside him.


	4. Fair Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after their emotional first night together, Vic wakes up to an empty bed at the chilly crack of dawn. Thankfully, Walt is just doing chores. The obligations of a deputy and a sheriff weigh on them both but Walt can hardly let her leave. Affirmations of their affection for each other are the only thing that will tide them over until later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Edited for spelling and a paragraph that didn't make its way from the document to here for some reason.)

Vic woke suddenly. The faintest gray light of early morning barely illuminated the room from the open door. She groaned and rubbed her eyes. A morning person she was not; she wasn’t even sure if it really _was_ morning. As her sleep-dazed mind caught up to the month, day, year and time, the dark rustic interior of Walt’s bedroom brought the events of last night right back into her mind. Her heart stumbled and punched hard for a few beats with the memory of his body moving against hers, breathing her name. She looked to her side, finding an empty pillow. The bed on that side was barely warm anymore either. Her senses were starting to wake up now, and the faint crackle of the wood stove in the living room drifted in along with the smell of coffee. He'd been up for a while.

The ancient clock radio on the bedside table read 7:02 am. Vic groaned and swing her bare legs out of the bed. Her back and thighs protested a bit and she snorted to herself. _Not as young as I used to be,_ she mused, stretching the muscles that ached. She had to be at the station in an hour. She found her panties and jeans, tugging on the cold denim with a hiss. She groaned again, remembering that the rest of her clothes were in the living room, and shivered. One of Walt’s flannels was draped over the back of a chair, so she snagged it and pulled it around her, not bothering with the snaps. It smelled like him. Like pine and cold iron, saddle soap, a hint of whatever neutral deodorant he used. _I should keep this._

Walt wasn’t in the living room or the kitchen, but two mugs were out by the French press, so Vic helped herself to a cup. It was bitter and dizzyingly strong, just the way she liked it. She padded quietly to the front window and peeked out. It was snowing lightly, a dusting already covering their trucks and the road. Then she saw Walt's figure in the half-dark making his way up from the woodshed by the barn with an armload of firewood. In the limited field of the porch light she could see that he was already dressed in his usual jeans, utility coat and hat, which was accumulating snow. Vic bit her lip and smiled to herself, turning away from the window. She went back to the kitchen to pour herself another cup of coffee.

The screen door banged open and Walt shuffled in, kicking snow off his boots before dumping the firewood in the holder beside the stove and squatting down to stoke the fire. Vic kept her back turned to him, looking out at the distant mountains through the kitchen window. Soon the flames were licking the seasoned wood hungrily, and he shut the door, straightening up slowly. He dropped his leather gloves on the mantle before turning and walking toward the kitchen. Vic heard his steps pause in the doorway when he saw her.

“Morning Walt,” she said, turning to face him. The house was dark still but the fire illuminated half his face dramatically.

“That’s my shirt,” he remarked.

“Left mine out there,” Vic shrugged and nodded toward the sofa. She poured him some coffee and held it out with a smile. “Joe?”

Walt unrooted himself from the floor and walked carefully to her. His steely eyes never left hers as he took the mug, then set it on the counter. His warm, rough hands crept their way around her waist and smoothed up her ribs. Breathlessly, Vic leaned up and their lips met softly. She set her own mug down and tipped his hat back, draping her arms around his shoulders. Their noses brushed as they sank deeper into the kiss, relishing it. Walt released her mouth first. Her eyes opened gradually. Want simmered shallow beneath her surface and he willed himself to remain composed.

“Mornin’ Vic,” he said, a little out of breath.

Her shirt – well, his shirt – had slid open a bit, leaving her chest partly exposed. Walt’s eyes traveled slowly down her sternum, lingering on the soft swell of her breast. She blushed under his gaze and kissed him lightly on the side of his mouth before extracting herself from his embrace. There was little more she wanted than to take him back to bed and invite him to explore her skin with his hands again, but they both had a busy day ahead of them at the station. It would have to wait.

“Gotta get ready for work,” she said.

Walt let his hands fall to his side, taking their familiar place on his hips as he watched her retrieve her shirt and bra from his couch. Her hair was loose, and it fell gracefully down her back. Little waves accentuated it. He imagined running his hands through it as she disappeared into his bathroom to freshen up and get fully dressed.

He sighed. There was a lot unspoken between them he knew would have to be discussed at some point. Lord knows how difficult that conversation would be. He wished they could just drive away for a while to spend time catching up on all those unspoken words and feelings. The quiet tick of the clock on the piano and the muffled sounds of the stove accompanied his introspection.

Meanwhile Vic was glaring at the bathroom mirror, examining the hickeys on her neck, along with the ones that peppered her chest.

“Damnit,” she hissed under her breath. Thankfully, her uniform would cover most of them but the ones on her neck… Her heart tripped over itself again though, the idea of Walt leaving marks on her skin that only they knew about was… Exciting.

She yanked her hair into a tight ponytail and rubbed yesterday’s mascara into a more professional hint of eyeshadow. _Please, please let there be at least one fucking clean shirt in my truck._ Vic pulled nervously at her tank top once more. She marched out of the bathroom, suddenly determined to make it to work before the Ferg. Since being evicted and moving in with Cady, going to work each day was her only distraction from her own mind. The clock read 7:17. It had barely gotten brighter; the low clouds and snow made everything pale.

Walt was cleaning his rifle when she exited the bedroom. He looked up at her with a quirked eyebrow. She cleared her throat and looked down, embarrassed for some reason.

“Uh, I’m gonna head out, grab some breakfast on my way to the station,” she said, louder than she intended, “You want a sandwich?”

“No thanks,” Walt responded. She looked so different with her hair up; more professional. Despite removing her clothes one article at a time only hours ago, he felt awkward.

“I’ll give you a head start, so uh, you know… I need to do some chores before I go in,” he stumbled over his words. He hated that they had to do this but their relationship, whatever it now may be, put both at risk. Vic nodded slowly with a pained but understanding expression.

“See you in a few Walt,” Vic shoved her arms into her coat and opened the front door, letting in a blast of cold air. She was merely a few steps down the porch when she heard the door open and Walt’s boots rush down after her.

“Wait,” he bit out, taking her arm and spinning her to face him. He had a wild expression, then kissed her hard. She was startled at first but melted into the kiss. It was desperate and heated. She pulled away from him with a gasp.

“I gotta go!” she giggled breathlessly.

“I know but I couldn’t let you go without one more kiss,” he said, blushing. He offered a small, boyish smile.

“Mmmm all this time running away from each other and now you can’t let me out of your sight, huh,” she teased, resting her hands on his broad chest.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, sight you were last night,” Walt said in a low tone.

“Easy there, cowboy,” Vic responded, biting her lower lip, “I’ll come over tonight.”

“To do what exactly?” his mouth grazed over her earlobe and jaw, and she sucked in a breath, reining herself in. As tempting as another night in bed with Walt sounded, she knew they needed to do the adult thing and have a conversation. Feelings are hard, but intentions and commitments are harder.

“Well, first of all, we need to talk. About this; about us,” She said slowly. Walt straightened to look at her and nodded.

“Gotta set some ground rules, huh,” he sucked his teeth.

“C’mon Walt, you know how risky this is, a sheriff and his deputy in bed together. We have to be careful,” she placed emphasis on ‘careful.’

“We’ll figure it out, promise,” Walt said quietly, stroking her cheek.

“I’ll hold you to that,” she said, turning on her heel and making her way to her truck.

“Vic,” Walt called.

“Yeah?”

He looked at her for a moment, mulling different phrases in his mind.

“I uh, I’ll see you at the station,” he decided on. _Idiot._

“Yeah,” Vic yanked open the door to the back seat, thankful to see a box labeled “Work Clothes” on the seat. She dug until she found a beige long sleeve button down with the _Absaroka County Sheriff’s Department_ patch on the shoulder. Snowflakes kissed her bare shoulders when she tossed her jacket into the passenger seat and hurried to put on the shirt. Her hands were already red with the cold, and she could feel Walt’s eyes on her back. She felt herself blush, fumbling with the buttons as she shut the door and walked to the driver’s side. Then he was there, hands on hers. He carefully fastened the buttons up her chest.

“Sorry about the bruises,” he murmured, fussing with the last button at her collar.

“S’okay,” Vic breathed, “I’ve got a scarf in here somewhere.”

“I won’t ever let you feel alone, sweetheart,” _I'm in love with you too, Victoria Moretti._

Vic felt her heart in her throat. His eyes were intense, a deep sea blue.

“I know,” her voice was raw with emotion, and the cold that felt like it was sucking the air from her lungs.

He nodded, satisfied with the answer. They kissed again. The understanding between them made it bittersweet. Sacrifices would have to be made but at the end of it all, Vic knew deep down that she had never felt more at home with anyone else.

He stepped back, letting her get into her truck and shut the door. She put on her coat and turned the key, cranking the heat. Fog clouded the windows while she sat letting it warm up, blowing into her hands. Her stereo read 7:28, the external thermometer read 22 degrees Fahrenheit. The fog lifted from the windshield a little after a few minutes and she could see Walt standing back up on his porch, hands in his pockets. The cold made his cheeks rosy. He looked lighter than he had when he stomped into the Red Pony last night. It was a good look on him, peace was.

_I want to be part of your peace._

Walt watched Vic reverse and disappear down his road in the snow before heading back inside to finish his "chores". In reality, he just thought it might be kind of odd to arrive to the station at the same time. Maybe he was overthinking it. But Vic seemed to catch his drift. He'd already fed and watered the horse, and brought in wood. Now he just needed to wait patiently. He eased himself back into the chair, picking up the rifle barrel and the rag. It didn't really need cleaning, but he took it apart and inspected the components if only to kill time until it was safe to go to work. Silence filled the cabin, save the ticking clock on the mantle, an occasional gust of wind at the double-paned windows, and the low crackle of the stove. He replayed last night in his head methodically, lingering on Vic’s desperate, beautiful sounds. The sounds she made for him. It made him shiver.

He could only twiddle his thumbs for so long, so he reassembled the rifle, testing the lever action. Satisfied, he set it down and assembled the rest of his uniform: revolver in its holster, knife in its sheath. Sheriff pin on his jacket. Hat, boots, badge, rifle, out the door. He locked up and hustled down the steps to the Bronco. A familiar pattern to distract himself from the sudden dose of wildly unfamiliar territory he was getting himself into.

_Not like I’ve never navigated strange territory before._

Not long ago he’d asked for Martha’s forgiveness, for unspeakable sins he did not succeed in committing in her name, and those he had. He wondered if her mercy would apply to his habit of hurting the women who had given him so much asking for little in return, including their daughter. A cruel man he was not, but he could admit to behaving like a dumb SOB who couldn’t let himself feel joy.

The wind was starting to pick up, and the mountains were shrouded by the clouds and blowing snow. They were in for a lot of calls from people who slid off the road and ran into a post or the single tree after mile marker 9. Hopefully no serious accidents, but in weather like this there was bound to be at least one. The usual for the first November blizzard in Absaroka county. Walt turned the key in the ignition and waited for the Bronco to warm up, eyes trained on Vic's rapidly fading tire tracks. 

_Where are you going to lead me, you wild, beautiful woman?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is about exploring how much push and pull there is between them wanting to collapse in each others arms but also wanting to play it safe. I hope I executed that idea well! We are diverging from canon timeline here as well.


	5. Drifting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vic and Walt try to keep their distance from each other in the station, but find it hard to hide anything from Ruby. Several calls later, and Vic is starting to seriously reconsider her decision to confess her love for Walt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is very dialogue heavy. This and the next one are my attempt at writing an "episode" of the show.

Vic flew down the dirt road, back to the main highway. She stopped at the drive-thru to pick up some breakfast. Some excuse to be so early to work. She dug through another box when she arrived at the station and located a scarf. It wasn’t very cute, but warm and more than big enough to cover the hickeys Walt so graciously left on her neck. It seemed colder in town. Wind whipped little stinging snowflakes against her exposed forehead; they were little more than jagged ice crystals. Her mood was soured by the weather. 

_ Can’t hide in Walt’s cozy cabin fantasy forever. _

The Trans Am wasn’t in its normal parking spot, but Ruby’s wagon was. The tire tracks in the snow were fresh; she’d just gotten there too. Vic jogged up the stairs, grateful to be out of the wind.

“Morning Vic, you’re here bright and early,” Ruby called as Vic shoved through the station door carrying a sack of foil-wrapped sandwiches for everyone.

“Yeah I brought breakfast, you want a sandwich?” Vic stopped in front of Ruby’s desk, shaking the bag enticingly.

“No, I already ate before I got in. I’ll start the coffee though, it’s cold in here this morning,” She stood up to fill the coffee maker with water and get it going before everyone else arrived. Vic’s eyes wandered to the edge of the big desk visible through the door to Walt’s office and her heart did a weird flip. She knew he’d be in later; he had chores at the house after all. It was better if they didn’t show up to work at the same time anyway. For now.

“He’s not in yet hon, should be on his way,” Ruby said with a sideways glance, scooping grounds into the filter, “I like your scarf, what’s the occasion?” Ruby gestured at the orange and white Flyers scarf wrapped high around her neck.

“Um, it’s cold as hell and I thought I’d add a pop of color to my uniform today,” Vic dodged poorly, hoping the chilly weather was a strong enough excuse. For someone that never wore a scarf except to hockey matches in Philly, it really wasn’t.

“Really,” Ruby’s voice was incredulous, and Vic could feel her cheeks get red.  _ Nothing ever gets past Ruby, does it. _

“There’s, uh, some marks…. I don’t really need to show ‘em off to the rest of the world, if you know what I mean,” she sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“Ooooh, I gotcha, who’s the lucky man?” Ruby asked excitedly. She wasn’t one to gossip but the men in the station weren’t much fun to talk to about anything other than the cases on hand, so she enjoyed talking to Vic whenever possible. 

“I ain’t tellin’,” Vic chuckled with a playful wag of her finger, turning to flip through the binder clip of papers on her desk.

Ruby laughed too and dropped the lid of the coffee maker shut, the sounds and smell of percolating coffee filling the office. She crossed the bullpen, pausing with a hand on Ferg’s desk.

“It was Walt, wasn’t it,” she said softly. Her tone was not accusatory, it was a matter-of-fact statement. She almost sounded pleased. Vic blinked in surprise and looked up to face her.

“Um, wh– I mean, yeah, but –“ she stammered. Ruby only gave her a look over her glasses, and a gentle pat on her shoulder.

“Honey I’ve worked in a sheriff’s office for 23 years. I’ve learned a thing or two about picking up on clues,” She winked and made her way back to her computer to start the day’s tasks, “Besides, from the way you two make doe-eyes at each other all day I knew it would happen sooner or later. You be good to him; he might look tough on the outside but he’s got a fragile soul.”

“Thanks, Ruby. I’ll do my best,” Vic smiled awkwardly, “Oh, if you wouldn’t mind, this stays between us, okay? We kinda… it was just last night… he and I still need to talk about some things…”

“Of course, hon,” Ruby mimed drawing a zipper across her mouth and dropping the key in her wastebasket.

Vic slumped into her desk chair. The papers on her desk already were easy enough a task, so she started working on those. They were just case reports that needed a once over and her signature. Then Walt’s. She got to the third one when the radio crackled with Ferg’s voice.

“It’s Deputy Ferguson, anyone there yet? Over.”

“Go ‘head, Ferg,” 

“Hi Ruby, can you tell the boss I’m gonna be late? I’m helping a guy get his car back on the highway; there’s a lot of black ice on the road.”

“I will when he gets in, thanks. Be safe out there Ferg.”

“Will do, over and out.”

Ruby clicked the receiver and returned to her computer. The scratch of her pen on the sticky note and the gurgle of the coffee maker were the only sounds in the office again. Vic fidgeted, picking her sandwich out of the bag and unwrapping it. She didn’t like when it was this quiet in the big wood-paneled room. The telltale rumble of Walt’s Bronco drifted up from the street below, shortly followed by the sound of boots coming up the stairs. Vic did her best to keep her focus on her breakfast, which was actually delicious. She glanced up at him when he walked in, and nearly choked. He was wearing a scarf. It was dark gray knit and looked about 100 years old but cozy. Though she had neglected to notice whether he had some hickeys of his own.  _ Oops. _

“Mornin’ Ruby,” he said gruffly.

“Hey Walt, the Ferg called; he’s helping some poor gentleman get his car back on the road so he’s going to be late,” Ruby handed him the sticky note, “Great scarf!”

“Figured we’d be getting some calls like that. He need help?” Walt poured himself a cup of coffee, “And thanks. My mother made it.”

“Nope, not yet anyway.”

“Alright then. Keep me posted,” he sipped his coffee and made his way to his office.

“Morning Vic,” he said as he passed her desk. His tone was even and cool but there was a small flicker of a smile in his eyes and at the corners of his mouth.

“Morning Walt,” she saluted with her half-eaten sandwich, “Nice scarf,” she said at his back. No response came and she tsked under her breath.

She finished her sandwich and returned her focus to the paperwork in front of her. Five and a half more reports through, Ferg came in through the door. His coat had a modest dusting of snow on it and his boots left wet tracks on the hardwood. The weather was getting worse.

“Morning Ruby, Vic,” he huffed cheerfully.

“Hey Ferg… Boy I missed the scarf memo today didn’t I,” said Ruby with a laugh.

“Yeah? I guess so, kind of a necessity out there in the blizzard though,” he said.

Vic glanced up at him, noting the red, white, and blue Rangers scarf he had on.

“Rangers fan, huh? Bold of you to come in here with that,” Vic teased.

“Oh, uh my dad took me to New York to visit my cousins a few years back, they got it for me,” he held up his hands.

“Suuuuure,” she said, tapping her pen on her desk.

“Whatever Vic, we both know the Rangers wipe the ice with the Flyers, like,  _ consistently _ ,” Ferg joked back, unwinding the scarf so it just draped around his neck. He hung his coat up, brushing the melting snow off it onto the floor.

“Hey, thanks for starting those reports, I can split the deck if you want,” he offered as he sat down.

“Nah, I’m almost done anyway. I think there’s some more paperwork that needs to be filed by this evening if you’d like to start that,” 

“Okay, sounds good. Until we need to go drag someone else’s car out of a ditch. Your truck has a winch on it right?” Ferg jerked a thumb in the general direction of the road.

“Yeah, so does the Charger. Walt has the keys to that in his office,”

“Really? You think he’d let me drive it in the snow?” Ferg’s eyes lit up at the opportunity to drive the Charger.

“I would,” Walt said, startling Vic a bit. He tossed the keys at the Ferg, who was visibly overjoyed. He jumped at every chance he could get to drive Branch’s squad car; it was kind of his own little tribute to the late deputy he had looked up to once upon a time. It helped him feel less guilty for being jealous of him too.

“You’re in luck, a Miss Shepherd just called, she’s slid off her driveway with two tires off the ground,” Ruby chimed in, passing a pink sticky note with the address to Walt who handed it to Ferg.

“You got this one?” he asked with an arched eyebrow.

“Absolutely, boss,” Ferg all but leapt from his seat, snatching his jacket and heading out the door.

“Drive safe!” Vic called after him.

“Ruby I need you to pull up some old files. One of the cases from yesterday seems pretty similar to the M.O. of a guy I arrested a few years back on possession charges. Here’s the names,” Walt gave her a short list. The day’s work was already picking up and it wasn’t even 8 am.

Vic watched Walt walk to the file cabinet and thumb through it.  _ Huh, his ass looks great in those Wranglers. How have I never noticed? _ She tucked a stray hair behind her ear, transfixed. It looked good enough to bite.

“Vic.” Walt’s voice said sternly.

“Huh?” Vic took a sip of her coffee, feigning innocence.  _ Get it together, girl. _

“I said, are you ready for me to sign those reports,” he still sounded serious, but a twinkle in his eye belied him.

“Oh, uh no I’ll bring ‘em in when I finish the whole stack,” she patted the pile.

Walt nodded and took the sheets of previous arrests Ruby printed off for him. He made his way back to his office, glancing at Vic with a questioning eyebrow raised. She blushed furiously and tried to return her focus to the papers in front of her. With another mouthful of hot coffee, she was able to read the black print with some success and began diligently working through the rest of the stack. Ruby relayed calls to Ferg occasionally; more citizens needed help. They worked with the local towing service to make sure people got to work on time.

“I think I’m just going to drive around with lights on so people slow down. The roads are nasty and the WYDOT hasn’t got enough grit trucks to come our way until this evening. I guess the storm’s pretty bad up in Sheridan and all the way east to the border,” Ferg reported, radio crackling.

“Alright Ferg I’ll let you know if we need you for anything back here,” Ruby returned.

“Over and out.”

Vic straightened the stack of papers on her desk and stood to deliver them to Walt for his signature. When she knocked on the door and peeked around it, he had some mug shots and old records scattered on his desk.

“I’ve got these for you to sign, Walt,” she said quietly. He looked up at her, eyes sharp. She sucked in a breath. Whenever he looked like that, there was a storm brewing in his mind. It kind of turned her on, to her dismay.

“Uh, how’s your… case going?” she asked.

“I think I know who I need to pay a visit to, ask some questions. It can wait though. Last time I tried to arrest this guy I had to run his car off the highway halfway to the next county. Better wait until the roads aren't so icy,” Walt rubbed his chin. The scarf he came in with was loose around his neck; no hickeys that she could see. She breathed a minute sigh of relief and tugged at her own.

“Do you want me to go out to help Ferg or –,” Vic began, shifting her weight from foot to foot.

“No. Uh, no there’s more paperwork that needs to be done; I might go talk to Mathias later about a break-in he asked me about yesterday,” he said distractedly, “Couldn’t follow up with the drug case happening so…”

“Gotcha, um, can I go work on the paperwork or do you need help holding the pen to sign those?” Vic tried to direct her nervous energy into her usual snarky attitude.

Walt hardly looked amused. That worried her a little more than it probably should have.  _ Is he going to be weird about this? _

“Vic uh,” he started quietly, casting a glance through the doorway at Ruby who was talking to the towing company on the phone. Before he could say anything else, Vic move closer to his desk and hissed in a low tone,

“Walt if you’re going to be weird with me at work, I’m gonna have to draw the line,” her jaw was clenched. 

“I’m not being weird,” Walt defended weakly.

Vic rolled her eyes, “I’ll go talk to Mathias, you sign these,” she tapped the stack of reports.

He nodded, face blank. He was very good at remaining neutral, but Vic thought she saw a flicker of… something… as she stalked out of his office, grabbing her keys and coat.

“Ruby I’m going to the rez to talk to Mathias, can you call his office to let him know I’m on my way?” she called on her way out of the bullpen.

“Actually, Ferg seems like he’s getting a little overwhelmed, maybe you or Walt can go give him a hand? A semi jackknifed on some ice but the driver is giving him trouble. Won’t tell him how fast he was going,” Walt was already standing at the coat rack by the time she finished.

“Guess Mathias will have to wait some more. Where’s he at?”

“Mile marker 14,”

Walt clicked his tongue and walked out quickly, Vic following close behind. They were both in full work mode now; an uncooperative trucker almost always spelled trouble. They got into their respective vehicles out front of the office, Walt leading the way to the highway. Visibility was about 10 car-lengths, but it was getting warmer. Walt flipped his lights on, Vic doing the same. Snow snaked across the road in her headlight beam, flickering red and blue. 

It took a while with the slick roads and low visibility to arrive at the scene, where a semi was facing the wrong direction with the trailer at an odd angle, blocking a lane. Flares and reflective triangles guided them around and they parked on the shoulder.

Vic hopped out first, walking quickly to Ferg’s window as he rolled it down. She scowled at the wind that bit into her face over the roof of the charger.

“Ferg what’s the situation?”

“He’s just shook up I think but he won’t tell me how fast he was going or who he’s hauling for which makes me nervous.”

They both looked toward the truck where the driver sat with the door open.

“Did he call a tow truck or anything? How long’s he been stuck?”

“Couldn’t have been long, the skid marks were fresh when I got here. The tractor towing company is a little swamped, but they said they had a guy on the way.”

“Oregon plates on the tractor, Wyoming plates on the trailer. Wonder if he owns the rig.”

“Nope,” Ferg indicated to the screen on his right, with the driver's - Paul McMann - license registered to a red 1995 Dodge caravan with Washington plates, along with a record of prior arrests and warrants for his arrest in South Dakota and Nebraska. Definitely not CDL certified.

Suddenly Walt shouted, and Vic whirled to see Paul on his feet running up the road, with Walt in hot pursuit. He didn’t make it far before misstepping and slamming into the icy asphalt. The sheriff landed a knee on his thigh, yanking the man's arms behind his back as he swore and tried to squirm away.

Vic hustled back to the bronco, throwing the door open so Walt could shove him inside.

“Didn’t have to go to this guys house after all,” Walt growled, hands on his hips. Paul was evidently the fellow he’d been interested in following up with.

Ferg’s voice came on the radio, “Walt, Ruby called in another accident closer to town, so I gotta go. Thanks for the back-up! Over,”

“Okay Ferg, good call on this one, I can take it from here,” Walt spoke quickly into the receiver. The charger accelerated slowly past them. The man in the back seat mumbled something incoherent about slippery roads and Caribbean women, his gaze unfocused. He reeked of alcohol.

“Vic, he’s drunk as a fish so why don’t we let him sober up at the station. You wait for the tow truck and I’ll take him back, see if he’s got as good a story as last time I picked him up.”

She nodded, happy to sit in her truck with the heat cranked up high. She needed some time to think anyway. Maybe it was a really bad idea to be getting into… whatever it was she and Walt were trying to do. Either way, she needed a moment to herself to stew about it.

Walt drove off, leaving her in the cold wind. She checked the flares; plenty of fuel for another hour or so. Hopefully she wouldn’t have to wait that long. The trailer was unlocked; it had pallets of briquettes and wood stove pellets. Inside the cab of the truck she collected an unloaded handgun and a box of ammo, a crowbar, bolt cutters, and 3 fifths of rum, one empty. _ He must think he’s a real badass, driving a semi that doesn’t belong to him, drunk off his ass, _ she thought. She snapped some photos and forwarded them to Ruby. It was rarely the smart ones that took jobs moving relatively low-value cargo without license to do so.

Back at the truck, she stowed the evidence in a box on the floorboards and bundled into her seat just as her radio emitted Ruby's voice through the static.

"Come in, Vic?"

"I'm here, go ahead,"

"State police called, they have a team headed to you to take a look at the scene since the driver has an out-of-state warrant, over."

"Great I'll standby until they get here, thanks."

Vic fiddled with the stereo but none of the stations were coming in clear enough, so she settled for watching the wind-whipped snow curl and wave over the hood of the truck. Thoughts of the previous night's events played out in her head.  _ How am I going to make this work? _ She chewed a strand of hair anxiously. She was starting to have real strong second thoughts about whether she made the right choice, to lay aside her fears and give in to her feelings for Walt. 

A serious relationship would put a lot of stress on both of them, and she wasn't sure if either of them were ready for that. It would be incredibly callous to ask Walt to "move on" from Martha, and she still found herself missing the rare occasions Sean welcomed her home with a beer and home-made Philly cheese steak after work. The sandwiches sucked; it was hard to find the right ingredients anywhere in Wyoming, but it was a nice gesture. She didn't miss the fighting, his prioritization of his own career over hers, and so many other little things that made divorcing him the easiest part of their marriage.

Being at work with Walt that morning felt strange and she knew it wouldn't ever return to "normal," despite how much she'd previously hated swallowing the urge to cling to him with all her might every time he risked his life on a near daily basis. All those awkward, weighted silences when she could feel Walt's eyes boring holes in her, trying to unravel her troubles. Self-doubt stabbed it's venomous thorn in her mind too.  _ I could never replace Martha _ ; she repeated to herself. He wouldn't expect her to, but all the same.  _ What if I'm just not enough for him, after all he's been through? After everything I've been through? _

That made her feel dizzy. She shook her head and tried to dislodge the toxic feeling.  _ I gotta get a therapist _ , Vic thought ruefully. The wind hissed through the undercarriage, indifferent to her internal suffering. Then there was Cady. Vic winced at the thought of telling her new roommate that she was sleeping with her father. She'd make Walt do it, if he intended on making this more than a one-time thing.

Nearly an hour later, 3 Wyoming state trooper vehicles arrived. Vic let Ruby know via the radio, and hopped out of the warm truck, grimacing at the cold.

"Absaroka sheriff's department? Sorry to make you wait, the roads are awful," one of the troopers exited his car with a hand on his hat. 4 others came over to her as well. One of them looked her up and down in a way that made her skin crawl.  _ Ugh. _

"No worries. I'm Deputy Moretti, thanks for coming. I understand the guy we just picked up is a wanted man?"

"Sergeant Rich," he shook her hand firmly. "This Paul McMann guy's got a lot of missed court dates to answer for, and apparently a stolen semi."

"I have some of the items from the cab in my truck. The trailer is unlocked, I looked inside earlier; there's just stove pellets and charcoal like for a grill? If you need the detailed incident report I can get that faxed from my office."

"We'll take a look, officers Schmidt and Hendricks can take the evidence off your hands," he waved to the two at his left.

Vic handed Schmidt the box with the tools and booze.

"I used gloves to handle everything but don't have big enough evidence baggies to -,"

"Don't worry about it miss, I'm sure you did a fine job," he smarmed. She gave them a fake smile.

"I'll be here if y'all need help with anything," Vic gritted out between her teeth. Male officers who talked to female officers like that made her want to scream. It happened so much in Philly and she was beyond grateful that her current co-workers expressed so much respect for her.

"I think we'll be okay," said Hendricks.

"Honey, we've got this under control from here, why don't you take your pretty little self right on back to the station and get that report sent over to us, eh?" Schmidt smirked, hardly masking another gross up-and-down look at her. 

Vic saw red for a moment before tamping it down to a well-practiced poker face, and crossed her arms before destroying him completely.

"That's interesting, does your wife know about your habit of hitting on female deputies that outrank you, or is that just between you and Hendricks?" She nodded at the big gold wedding band on his left hand. He flushed and stammered.

"Uh, now hang on, I -"

"No need to explain yourself to me, officer, I just hope you mean it when you tell your wife you love her," Vic turned on her heel and got into her truck. The two officers stood there dumbly staring at their boots.

"Oh, and you all can come up to the office to get your guy and the accident report, our fax machine's been on the fritz now that I think about it," she called out the window before turning the key and navigating around the flares. Ice crunched under the tires, giving way to asphalt.

The visibility on the way back into town was much better, allowing her to go a little faster than earlier. Her blood was still boiling, but she felt vindicated. It wasn't long ago when she would have just shrunk back, laughed it off, and then been pissed off for hours after being treated that way. It was nice to know she could deal a scathing retort every once in a while.  _ I should try that on Omar next time his dumb ass takes a pass at me, _ she thought.

Walt and the Ferg were standing in front of the cell with the still-drunk driver of the truck when Vic came in. 

"State police will come collect him when they finish up out there," she said, "He have anything interesting to say to you guys?"

"No, still won't speak in complete sentences," frowned Ferg.

"Damn, I don't think I could drive a semi let alone walk in a straight line if I was that drunk," Vic said, half way impressed.

"I jus' don't f-feel like talkin', 'ats all," Paul slurred, sitting with his head against the wall. The busted lip he acquired when he face-planted in the road left dry blood all over his shirt collar.

Walt shook his head and took off his hat, slapping it once against his thigh. He looked frustrated. 

"Well you'll sober up and figure talking's the best option you've got. Ruby'll get you some coffee and then we'll give it another go, how's that sound, Paul?"

Paul just scoffed. He was intentionally making this more difficult for everybody. Some are just like that. No sense of when to quit and own up to their actions.

"Walt, a man just called about a dead heifer, looks like somebody shot it in the pasture," Ruby handed a sticky note with the name and address of the caller to him, "He's pretty worked up, I guess she was a prize-winner."

"Alright then, let's go Ferg," Walt firmly replaced his hat. As they were about to leave, the state troopers filed in, Sergeant Rich at the front.

"Afternoon, Sheriff, we're here to take McMann off your hands," he extended a hand to Walt, who shook it curtly. Officer Schmidt leered at Vic, who was stapling the accident report to Paul's prints and mugshot.  _ Hasn't learned his lesson has he,  _ she thought, furrowing her brow.

"Here's the report," she handed it off to the Sergeant.

"Thank you miss Moretti," officer Schmidt piped up with a sleazy smile. Vic rolled her eyes. A flicker of panic danced across her subconscious when she remembered how Chance Gilbert called her that before clubbing her with a baseball bat. _ Get bent _ .

"Deputy Moretti," Walt said in a tone that to anyone unfamiliar would seem diplomatic, but to the rest of his department was distinctly dangerous, "She's a Deputy and will be addressed as such. Am I understood?" 

The uncomfortable silence only lasted a beat before Sergeant Rich offered weak apologies.

"I don't need you to apologise for him, I want you to fix the problem," Walt responded. His hands were on his hips; as was his habit one was on the holster of his sidearm.

Paul laughed as Ferg brought him out of the cell, passing him off to one of the other state troopers.

"Just like Clint Eastwood, ain't he," he guffawed obnoxiously.

The state troopers retreated out the door with Paul. Walt watched them go, eyes following them like a big ole cougar tom eyeing a reckless hound dog from his tree.

"Um, nice one, Walt," Ferg said nervously.

Walt just nodded, cast a glance at Vic, and headed out the door.  _ Don't praise a fish for swimming I guess, _ he thought to himself. It didn't matter how close he was with Vic, listening to men speak like that to or about women rubbed him the wrong way. Kind of like litter. He hated looking at it so he threw it away.


	6. He wouldn't hurt anyone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Walt and Ferg are called out to a troubled farmer's cattle barn where one of his prized heifers turned up dead by a precise gunshot. It doesn't take long to unravel the situation, but tensions are thick with a man in the midst of a mental breakdown and the Sheriff does his best to help a family in need. All the while, his feels distracted. How will he and Vic make this work? Is it the right choice?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw animal death, dissociative identity disorder (DID).

The wind tugged at the Bronco's chassis as he and Ferg drove out to the farmer's barn. Being out and about in a storm like this made him nervous, not that he'd ever say anything to Ferg about it. He'd seen a lot of bad things, but nothing ever got under his skin as much as being out in inclement winter weather. But there was work to be done, so he just steered down the curving road with two hands against the gusts. They arrived at the big barn, greeted by a pasture of yearling steers clustered by their hay feeder. The farmer was in the doorway of the barn, pacing. He rushed out to meet Walt as he shut the door of the truck. 

"Thanks so much for comin' out, Sheriff, they shot my best heifer. She was in calf to a half-million dollar bull too," he said, shaking Walt's hand firmly. The man was greatly distressed, that much was obvious.

"I'm sorry to hear that. Was she a show animal?" Walt asked as they followed the farmer through the barn out to the back pasture.

"Yes sir, won lots of ribbons and purses for me at the county fair. My son showed her calves too. Gave plenty of milk. She earned her keep I should say," he shook his head sadly. They came upon the body of the heifer at the bottom of the pasture by the fence, a big red and white Simmental. She had been shot at the poll. Whoever did it knew how to cull cattle to minimize suffering of the animal. She had been down, probably sleeping. Ferg began taking photos and Walt knelt for a closer look.

"Found her like this when she didn't come up to the barn for breakfast. I just don't know who would do this to her or me," he kicked a dirt clod.

"Does anyone else have access to your barn beside you and your son?" Walt stood, scanning the ground around the cow for tracks. Unfortunately the dirt was frozen and the snow obscured anything minute.

"Only other person's my wife and she don't come down without me or the boy," he said, "she lost a leg in a car accident when she was younger and uses crutches to get around. I don't want her to fall and get hurt down here by herself."

"This bullet wound is pretty small, I'd wager a .38. Do you have any small-caliber handguns on this property?"

"I've got a .38 and a 20 gauge locked up at the house. The .38 is an antique from my granddad so it doesn't see the light of day more than once or twice a year."

"We'll have to take a look at the weapons just in case." The farmer nodded.

"Walt, I found boot prints, over here on the other side of the fence," Ferg interrupted. He was crouched a little ways off, looking at a patch of mud where a trickle of water from a spring had kept the ground from freezing the night before. But now, with temperatures nearing single digits, there were ice crystals in the depressions made by the tread. 

"Good eye, Ferg," Walt lifted the wire and ducked under. He took a forensic tape from Ferg and set it next to the cleanest of the prints. Then he noticed the cigarette butts, just poking up from the snow.

"Anyone you know smoke?" Walt picked up a few, putting them in the evidence bag Ferg whipped out.

"Nobody I know that would wanna come out here by the cows to do it," the farmer shook his head.

"Would you mind if we talk to your son and your wife," Ferg stood up, "Just to confirm everything, you know?"

"Yeah of course, go on ahead. The house is up the road 'bout 2 and a quarter mile. I gotta give some vaccines to the steers up yonder though,"

"Need a hand with that?" Walt stood up too, looking up toward the barn.

"Nope, raised 'em gentle and they come right up to the chute when I've got a bucket of corn for 'em. Go talk to my family and I'll meet you at the house when I'm done."

"Alright sir. I'm real sorry about your cow, we'll do our best to get whoever did this," Ferg clasped the farmer on the shoulder.

Ferg and Walt walked back up the hill to the barn. They noticed 6 other Simmental heifers were clustered at the top of the back pasture under the eaves of the barn. Their dark eyes followed the two men curiously, but they stayed put, sheltered from the wind. Their breath made billows of steam. Walg wondered if they knew their herdmate wasn't ever going to join them again.

Up the road at the farm house, they were greeted by 3 barking dogs. A lanky teenager, the farmer's son, called them up to the porch, waving Ferg and Walt up as well.

"Hi Sheriff," he looked at them with wary eyes.

"Hello there sir, we just stopped at the barn to talk to your father about a cow that was shot, we'd like to ask you and your mom some questions if that's alright," Walt shook his hand. 

"Ma, sheriff's here!" He shouted into the house as they wiped their boots on the mat and shuffled into the front room.

The sound of crutches thumping on hardwood sounded from the hallway.

"Oh, what do they want?" Called the farmer's wife. She was a short, broad-shouldered woman, with lean forearms resting on the cuffs of her crutches. They were decorated with lavender and green vet wrap.

"Hi, ma'am, we'd like to ask you two some questions," Walt repeated.

"Of course, do y'all need anything? Tea, cider, coffee? My name's Emily, by the way, and this is Connor. Please, have a seat," She gestured to the chairs around the kitchen table.

"I'm fine, thanks," Walt nodded and took off his hat and sat down.

"Tea would be wonderful," Ferg said with a smile, taking a seat as well. Connor pulled a chair out for his mom, and sat down across from Walt.

"Connor, I'd like to ask a few things about how you help your dad out at the barn. He said you show calves at the fair?" Walt laced his fingers together.

"Yeah. Do the county fair and the state fair if we do well. Otherwise I move hay, milk cows, and muck stalls." Connor replied curtly, fidgeting.

"Connor, look at the Sheriff when you talk to him," Emily scolded as she handed Ferg his cup of tea and sat down.

"Sorry," he mumbled, looking up.

"Doesn't seem like you enjoy that very much,"

"It's fine, I just wish he'd let me do other stuff like drive the tractors and take care of the steers after they wean, you know," he shrugged.

"Colin, my husband, is very picky about how he does things," Emily said.

"I see," said Walt, "he said he keeps some firearms locked up here, we'd like to take a look at them just in case."

"In case of what?" Connor asked, tone more than a little defensive.

"Well, the heifer was shot with a .38 or other similar caliber and I was told your father owns a .38. Could you get the lockbox out for me, please?" Walt responded gently. It was always tough on a kid to deal with things like this so he tried his hardest to help him feel heard and respected.

"Okay sir," Connor got up and retrieved a lockbox out of a cabinet. He turned the dials and paused when he lifted the lid.

"Great granddad's revolver is missing," he looked up and Emily, concern in his voice.

She sighed, "Your dad must have taken it, or maybe…" she trailed off and glanced at Walt.

"Or maybe what? Does somebody else have access to this lockbox?" He asked.

"Oh no, nobody but the three of us knows the code," Emily sighed again and clasped her hands. "I'd hoped he'd tell you himself but evidently not. Colin's got dissociative identity disorder. You know, like more than one person lives in his head and sometimes they take turns being in charge. 'Colin' is there most of the time but sometimes other people talk. They sound different. I don't know all their names, but the more...loud ones are William and Kevin," She took a shaky breath, "I'm afraid he's off his pills again. It gets worse when he doesn't take them, but he refuses to sometimes. It stresses Colin out when he has to fight with all the other people all the time and he gets anxious and angry and impulsive. Last time it was bad he tried to dig a moat around the house because he thought somebody was going to break in. Broke the water line, cost us an arm and a leg to get it fixed."

Tears welled in her eyes. Connor squeezed her hand.

"Dad wouldn't hurt anybody, sheriff, I know he wouldn't," he said, his own voice wavering.

"His doctor wants him to be institutionalized but without him we can't do all the chores around the house, let alone the barn, and he hates hospitals more than anything," Emily sniffed. She wiped her eyes on her sleeve.

"Do you think Colin or one of his alternate personalities may have shot his cow?" Walt asked cautiously. 

"Well I don't know, honestly. Kevin doesn't like animals but he's never been violent to the dogs or the chickens or anything. He likes smoking cigarettes though," she responded with a tired expression.

Ferg looked at Walt. They'd found cigarette butts out by the dead cow and Colin had said that he didn't know anybody who would go there to smoke. Maybe he meant that his alt Kevin hated being around the cattle so he wouldn't go there anyway. But it was possible he didn't know when Kevin was in charge.

"I drove him to the barn last night," Connor said, speaking quickly and staring at his hands, "Late. It wasn't snowing yet. He was angry with me for some reason but I took him anyway. I think… I think Kevin was talking over him to me."

"Oh, honey," Emily said sadly.

"I stayed in the truck and watched him walk around to the back pasture. I didn't think anything of it, sometimes he gets restless and has to go check the fences or something just to make himself worry less. I had the radio up loud, you know, and he didn't come back for a long time but he was carrying the revolver and smelled like cigarettes when he came back." Connor was crying now, big tears rolling down his face, "He shot our cow, mama, and I didn't even stop him,"

"It scares me when he's not in control, sheriff, he's never done anything to me or mama, I just don't want to set him off." 

"It's okay, Connor," Ferg said, "You're not going to be in trouble we just want to get your dad the help he needs,"

"I know, I know but I can't do all the chores at the barn myself, he never showed me how to do a lot of stuff,"

The front door opened, causing cold air to billow against Walt's legs. Colin shut the door and shoved off his boots. Walt stood up and faced him.

"Sheriff," his voice was sharp and he seemed uncomfortable. The revolver's handle poked out above his belt.

"Colin, please come sit down," Emily said nervously.

He blinked quickly and his jaw clenched. "No, I think I'll stand right here until the sheriff finishes up his questions." His voice was level and odd, different than when he greeted Walt and Ferg at the barn. One of his alts was talking over him.

Then he shoved a chair at Walt, and suddenly everyone was shouting. Connor lunged at his father, wrapping him in an immobilizing bear hug. Ferg stepped in front of Emily, and Walt shouted back at Colin, or Kevin, who was swearing. When he finally stopped squirming, he was sobbing. Walt took the revolver out of Colin's waistband and unloaded it before setting it on the table.

"Please, sheriff I can't go to jail, I didn't mean to kill my cow you have to understand," he pleaded. Colin was in charge again. "My family needs me here as much as I can be, I can't leave my wife alone,-"

"I understand that you are sick and need help to heal, Colin, we'd like to help you," Walt said, his hand raised in a pacifying gesture. Connor still had his arms wrapped around him.

"How would I take care of the farm and my family from the insane asylum, huh?" he half-screamed, desperate.

"Colin, please," Emily said in a high voice, "You know there are safe places that will help you, no worse than a hotel!"

"She's right, and I have a cousin who knows about raising cattle who would be more than happy to look over your animals with Connor until you're healthy enough to come back," offered Ferg.

"Dad I promise it'll be okay, you just need to go to therapy for a while," Connor said, loosening his grip a bit. 

It took another half hour to get things sorted, and Colin settled down enough to have a glass of water and apologize for pushing a chair at Walt, but they got him scheduled for check-in at the mental hospital at the capitol the following afternoon. Ferg also called his cousin to ask her to come over from Utah to help out Emily and Connor while Colin was away, to which she enthusiastically agreed. Walt spoke with Connor as well, to make sure he knew to call him personally if ever he needed help.

**Author's Note:**

> I listened to a lot of indie rock, blues, grunge, and folk rock for this folks, there's a lot of feelings!


End file.
